


when ancient dreams of splendour came alive

by izzetboilerworks



Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: Gen, Unbeta'd, a fantasy vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-10-03 20:37:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17290994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/izzetboilerworks/pseuds/izzetboilerworks
Summary: Max wipes the blood from his sword off on the cape of one of the fallen soldiers and grimaces slightly as he surveys the battlefield. It’s a mess, with the orcs laid out in the high, hot summer sun, already stinking as midday passes.





	when ancient dreams of splendour came alive

**Author's Note:**

  * For [symsonic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/symsonic/gifts).



> title is from visions of the dawn by darkest era.

Max wipes the blood from his sword off on the cape of one of the fallen soldiers and grimaces slightly as he surveys the battlefield. It’s a mess, with the orcs laid out in the high, hot summer sun, already stinking as midday passes. But it’s not without losses on their sides. 

There’s an officer—Max thinks it might be Bryce, one of the guard captains—going through on a blood speckled white stallion, putting suffering orcs out of their misery. Max adjusts the cape that had been torn from his shoulder and sheathes his sword. 

“Unfortunate.” A voice says from behind him. Max recognizes the scratchy, little used voice of the druid they’d picked up on the way. “The land doesn’t like the taste of orc blood.” Max frowns and tilts his head to the side. His own magics didn’t touch the Earth, he can’t feel the trees or read leaves or whatever things Justin did. 

But Max _liked_ Justin. 

He’s glad they found him. 

“Is it going to cause problems?” Max asks. Justin runs a hand through his dark hair and twigs and sticks fall out. 

“Not for us.” 

Max claps him on the shoulder and looks to the sky, watching the grey of storm clouds. 

“But maybe, we should leave fast.” Justin’s mouth quirks into a half smile. Max mounts his roan mare and puts the boots to her, knowing that somehow, Justin will catch up. 

They enter the forest just as the rain starts to hammer among the bloodied battlefield. 

*  
“We lost quite a few men.”

Commander Dave Martinez has greying stubble and dark skin and he starts giving a pep talk to the remaining men. Max and Justin don’t stay. Max – is uncomfortable with Justin’s mount. It doesn’t seem to be of the natural world (though by his druidic code it _had_ to be. It’s hooves barely seemed to touch the ground. 

And its face, though equine in stature, was covered in some kind of bone plating that didn’t have holes for the eyes, and instead there’s a shiny green gem looking thing dead in the center. Max looks away. 

“What are you thinking?” Max asks as they trek into the darkened woods. Justin looks grim, his normally passive face looking pained, his dark brown eyes swimming with untold sorrow. 

“These are the mourning woods, keep your wits about you.” Justin says. 

The first night, making camp, in the only place Justin deemed safe, he watches as Justin draws symbols in the undergrowth, his fingernails caked with dirt. As the darkness falls, eerie shapes and the impression of glinting eyes seem to shift between the twisted tree trunks. 

A wail seems to start as soon as sun sets, and howls until the dawn breaks. Max doesn’t sleep. 

*  
“Here it is.” Justin says, three days into the woods, where the canopy seems to be dripping with water and the darkness makes it seem like they’ve been in constant night. This far into the heart of nature, Max’s flame powers are flickering out more often than not, his components and reliance upon the light of the sun dwindling with the journey. 

The flicker he casts is only faerie fire—ghostly white and dim. 

“That’s the heartstone?” Max asks. And he hisses in a breath. He’s not sure what he expected. 

The stone is obsidian, sleek and nearly mirror finished, towering above them like a giant, and misshapen – it’s red rivulets of—he doesn’t know the substance. Probably sap that looks like sticky, tacky blood shines otherworldly against the black. Max feels unsettled and draws his arms around himself. 

“Mmm.” Justin replies and he wipes his grimy hands on his equally grimy robes and reaches out, scraping off globs of the viscous fluid, and Max watches it build up on his fingertips. Max steels himself and closes his eyes. 

“I’m ready.” Max says. 

Justin whispers in druidic, the language sounding like the rustle of wind in the leaves and the creak of great branches, before the sap seems to almost glow and Justin waits as Max takes a few deep breaths and opens his mouth. 

It tastes like mud and blood and musk like mushrooms and he almost gags on it. Justin conjures a few small pixies, whose light sheds off like dust, and help illuminate the area. The faerie fire flickers out and Max slumps to the ground, choking on the substance. 

“It’s working, easy now.” Justin kneels down and steadies him. Max’s eyes feel heavy and he tries to open them. And he sees it, starting to build—the visions are coming just as planned, he just needs to weather it. Soon, he’ll have the answer.


End file.
